


i’m lucky i’m in love with my best friend

by SheWhoWalksUnseen



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Awkward Dates, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everyone Lived That’s All You Need To Know, First Dates, M/M, Not Much Conflict They're Just Idiots, Post-Canon, Sprinklings of Richie Tozier's Internalized Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWhoWalksUnseen/pseuds/SheWhoWalksUnseen
Summary: “Do I need a reason?” Richie teased back, mimicking Eddie’s defensive tone. “You got a hot date?”The pink spread to Eddie’s cheeks and Eddie cleared his throat. He shifted his weight, eyes darting back to the unsent email on his phone. His free hand fidgeted by his side before he shoved it into his windbreaker’s pocket. “Maybe.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 133





	i’m lucky i’m in love with my best friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beverlymarshian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beverlymarshian/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Lynne! Technically you knew this was coming, because I needed a little prompting before I jumped into what flimsy ideas I had, but surprise! I too am a certified Sucker for established relationships and domesticity so I couldn’t resist playing around with that for these two. And perhaps I had this idea on the back burner for a while and this was the kick in the pants I needed to actually write this silly, weird fic. So, enjoy 🤍
> 
> I also made a small playlist for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4zpCpab85iDw4D8x18WPvz?si=IF4PIfwuQ8W9FFEjCt-TZQ), so if you want to check it out, go right ahead!
> 
> title from “Lucky” by Jason Mraz.

They were in the checkout line in Target - Eddie alternating between scrolling on his phone and smiling politely at the cashier, Richie not-so-subtly eyeing the _Junior Mints_ lining the candy shelves, a last-ditch effort from corporate America to lure in children and comedians with a sweet tooth - when Eddie sprang the question.

Not _the_ question. Richie - well, he didn’t want to think about that possibility. Right now, of course, excluding any later opportunities. Having a heart attack on the soda-sticky floors of a Target wasn’t ideal and, besides, Eddie would _never_ have popped the question in a Target. Which, again, not that he _would_ pop the question since it’d been a little over a month since they “got their shit together”, as Bill liked to put it. Smug bastard.

Or, maybe Eddie would do it. Maybe he'd be blasé about asking even though he was in the process of finishing his divorce and clearly didn’t care that he’d be scaring the shit out of Richie in front of soccer moms and teenage cashiers who just wanted to leave.

But that was an absurd and frankly petrifying thought so Richie didn’t like to entertain the idea of Eddie down on one knee without a pillow around to scream into. Or a Bev or Patty to scream to, since they’d been on the receiving end of Richie’s anxious rambling more than once now and Stan had threatened (half-jokingly) to block Richie’s number if he called him to gripe about his love life again.

But all of this was beside the point.

Because the point was, impending freakout or not, Eddie sprang a very different question while Richie was _wholly unprepared_. All things considering, it was rather rude of him.

“What are we doing tomorrow night?” Eddie asked, not sparing a glance up from his phone as he typed out a passive-aggressive email.

Richie, however, did look over. It was a noble sacrifice since doing so interrupted his yearning for the _Junior Mints_ boxes calling his name like a soft chorus of angels. He raised an eyebrow when Eddie didn’t elaborate any further. “Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night.” More tip-tapping. The cashier gave them a curious, tired look as she scanned the last box of Eddie’s fiber shake.

“Oh.” Richie blinked and tried to wrack his brain. “Aside from what I’m giving your mom?”

To his credit, Eddie didn’t dare give Richie the satisfaction of looking up to glare at him while he replied, quick as a whip, “Right, all those STDs. Of course.”

Richie let out a guffaw and knocked his hip against Eddie’s, grinning wide down at the twitch ghosting the corners of Eddie’s mouth. “Like mother, like son. I gotta spread the love somehow.”

“Unfortunately.” More twitching, and Eddie’s eyes crinkled with the effort not to set the smile they both could sense was coming loose. It would only encourage Richie's teasing and both Eddie and Richie knew it. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Funny, I thought that was a pretty good answer.”

“Richie.” Eddie finally glanced up, a swift flick of dark eyes that turned his insides to slush. It couldn’t be helped; Richie was an easily distracted man. Eddie had to know it, too. He'd been weaponizing those eyes against him for most of his life.

Still, he struggled to reorder his thoughts, watching Eddie pay for their groceries. “Well, I believe we have nothing on the schedule, Edward darling. Why do you ask?”

Eddie’s mouth twisted. Richie swore he saw splotches of pink tinting the tips of his ears as he refused to meet his gaze once more. “Do I need a reason?”

“Do I need a reason to ask?” Richie teased back, mimicking Eddie’s defensive tone. “You got a hot date?”

The pink spread to Eddie’s cheeks and Eddie cleared his throat. He shifted his weight, eyes darting back to the unsent email on his phone. His free hand fidgeted by his side before he shoved it into his windbreaker’s pocket. “Maybe.”

Richie’s smile faltered, heart tripping over a beat, then two as he stared down at Eddie.

Richie liked to think he was a smart guy, and usually his friends would agree with such a statement. When Eddie confessed he loved Richie a month prior, he’d even shouted, “You’re the smartest person I know, how could you think I _wouldn’t_ love you? How could anyone _not_ love you, Richie?!”

That had also been around the point they had burst into tears, half-laughing, half-sobbing with relief as Eddie crossed the room and kissed the living daylights out of Richie. Richie, still unsure if he was dreaming or back in the sewers after a horrifying long-con scheme from the clown, tried to tell Eddie multiple times he wasn’t looking for pity after such a wild and rambling confession. Also, he was certain he’d gotten snot on Eddie’s favorite shirt.

Eddie just frowned and told him he was the most stubborn motherfucker he’d ever met before he continued his quest to kiss every inch of Richie’s face.

It had taken most of the night but Eddie convinced him in the end. Of course, that then sparked a new round of tears once Richie realized this was _real_ , but neither of them minded when they could kiss said tears away.

So, given everything, Richie should’ve been able to form any response other than the only thing he could squeeze out of his unresponsive tongue now: “I’m sorry?”

Eddie huffed but there was no frustration laced in the sound. Not towards Richie, it seemed, at least. “I’m coming home early from work tomorrow night. I figured… Well, I thought it’d be a good idea. You know?” He looked to Richie in askance.

Richie felt like sending back the same look, a wobbling boomerang of uncertainty circling the two of them and the baldly eavesdropping cashier - because this had to be the most exciting thing she'd seen in the last week, huh? Two repressed gay middle-aged men who wanted to play a weird game of facial charades at her register?

Eddie wasn’t saying what he _thought_ he was, was he? They’d already gone through the whole tearful confession stage and hurtling into the “things are slightly different now because you love your best friend and they love you back” stage. Eddie came out and returned his love within the same week. They’d started sharing the same bed because of their mutual affinity for hogging the bed and night terrors where they _needed_ to see the other within ten minutes of waking or they'd break down, for fuck’s sake. Richie was _positive_ he’d read the signals right.

That being said, he had absolutely no clue what Eddie was trying to convey here. Aside from this strange slow evolution into a strawberry with big eyes and brows that kept knitting closer and closer together on his reddening forehead.

He did make an adorable strawberry, though.

“I do not, actually, know,” Richie said carefully, hoping he came off calm and not queasy. “Are you having a stroke? What’s happening?”

Another huff and Eddie’s lips pursed. “I’m _fine_!” He grimaced when the cashier gave him a look, though she looked more amused than annoyed, and he lowered his voice. “I’m _fine_. That’s not - I’m trying to ask you something.”

“So ask it!”

“I want to go out for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Not really a question, Eds.”

“Richie!”

“Sorry, sorry. Just... With me?” Richie asked. He tried not to feel dumb for having to ask at all.

“Who else?” Eddie’s eyes searched Richie’s features, maybe seeing the lingering uncertainty, and he let out a deep breath. “If - If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course. We haven’t been out in a while, I guess,” Richie laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

The cashier snorted and they both eyed her warily but she just shook her head. “Dude, he’s asking you out. On a date.”

Once upon a time, Richie would've stuttered or vomited at the implication of anything _untoward_ , as his old manager used to call it. Which, Richie knew was homophobic and offensive as fuck, especially now when he was trying to be better about catching up to who he _wanted_ to be today, but back then he was petrified of any form of intimacy being perceived, gay or entirely platonic. He considered it an improvement that all he felt now was a slight twinge in his gut, mostly out of worry for Eddie who technically hadn't come out to anyone but the Losers.

It was a little disorienting that someone, some stranger, could clock their closeness without much context. Even if Eddie had been rather loud about “going out for dinner” fifteen seconds ago.

“Uh. Thanks, but we’re…” Richie’s voice trailed off when he spied the way Eddie’s face flushed even darker. That didn't look like embarrassment. More like his usual frustration mixed with -

And then the rest of his brain caught up, albeit _very_ delayed, and he realized maybe Eddie meant _a date_ as in _a date with Richie and Eddie._

As in, involving Richie as well. At the same table.

Just the two of them.

Together.

On a _date._

Right. Okay, maybe he should’ve figured that out on his own. An extremely obvious question, in retrospect. So sue him.

But, to be fair, it wasn’t as if they’d had any dates since the giddy conversation the morning after their confessions about whether they wanted to be “boyfriends”.

(Eddie’s nose had scrunched up, and as he turned to face Richie in the kitchen he took care not to burn himself on pancake griddle in the process .“Don’t say it like that, it sounds like you’re asking me to prom.” 

“Baby, you _wish_ I was asking you to prom.”

“Some date _you_ are. What, no corsage, you’re just going topless with cactus boxers, you muppet?” Eddie tsked, eyes bright in the morning sunshine streaming through the kitchen window as Richie laughed.)

Richie hadn’t even considered that Eddie would want to go on dates, though that might have come from the part of him that assumed Eddie was through with marriage and dating and the whole shebang after the sluggish years he’d experienced with Myra. The pining teenager Richie once had been would’ve gone nuts over planning dates, any opportunity to hold Eddie’s attention and get him out of the house, away from Richie’s nosy parents and Eddie’s eagle-eyed mother. 

His heart seized at the thought and he forced himself to come back down to reality. To an Eddie Kaspbrak with scars, who was now a grown man, who also looked more than a little nervous that Richie kept gaping at him like a fish.

“Oh,” Richie croaked.

“ _Oh_ , he says,” Eddie muttered, rolling his eyes. All that faux exasperation softened when he met Richie’s gaze, his shoulders slumping. “Idiot.” He said it with all the breathless affection that Richie, one month prior, never would have dreamed would be his.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Eddie hesitated. “If that’s - ”

“Eddie, you know damn well it’s more than okay by me,” Richie said. He didn’t even care that he came off too cheerful, too adoring as he found himself starting to smile again. “I - I mean, I didn’t know if that was what you wanted.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Did I give any indication I wouldn’t? Want that?”

“No! No, not what I meant.” He sort of wished they weren’t doing this in a Target where quite a few of the customers behind them were staring now, and the cashier looked ready to either pull out her phone to videotape this trainwreck or cheer them on. Richie became acutely aware of the fact that he was wearing a faded green shirt with a _Froot Loops_ logo on it and gray sweatpants with multiple holes in the crotch. A very attractive picture all around.

“Ask me again,” he said.

That skeptical brow rose higher, climbing up Eddie’s forehead and heading for the stratosphere. “What?”

“ _Ask me_ before Polly Pocket does it for you again.”

“I feel like I should be offended,” the cashier murmured to herself, glancing down at her bright purple shirt under her Target vest, her blonde ponytail bright against its neon orange scrunchy. _  
_

_Perri_ , the name-tag read. Eh, close enough.

Eddie looked like he might roll his eyes a second time but he sent Richie a smile, just a tiny one that you wouldn't know to look for unless you remembered Eddie Kaspbrak had one of the biggest hearts known to man. He lowered his phone and held Richie's gaze, strawberry-faced and all, and Richie tried not to smile too wide when Eddie's smile started growing in turn.

“Richie.”

“Eduardo.”

Eddie snorted. “Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow night?”

“To a place I'm assuming you've already scoped out for that nice gluten-free bread and a sick view?”

“ _Sick_ view,” Eddie joked, “what are you, a fifteen-year-old surfer?”

“Only at heart, baby.”

“Richard.” The undercurrent of nervousness hadn't dissolved in Eddie's voice, and Richie found himself softening as well.

“Hey. Of course, I want to go on a date with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course, Eds.”

“Oh, like it's obvious,” Eddie grumbled, but his dark eyes gleamed as he closed the distance between them to kiss Richie's cheek, which meant it was Richie's turn to get flustered. If steam began pouring out of his ears like a cartoon character, he wouldn't have been surprised.

His body, however, thankfully did not start steaming, and whatever minuscule of self-control that remained allowed for Richie to laugh again as he steered the two of them over to their bagged groceries and out of the Target so he could give him a proper kiss in a non-sticky, overall cleaner environment with less staring and whispering.

And that was that.

***

He should've known that wouldn't be the end of it.

Springing the question on Richie apparently was phase one of Eddie's plan to baffle and befuddle him, because while Richie attempted to put the idea of _Eddie on a date, Eddie on a date with me_ out of his mind for the night, he was once again unprepared to wake up to a crash and the sound of Eddie Kaspbrak's beautiful profanity coming from the kitchen, prompting Richie to stumble to the door to find a war-zone awaiting him. If war-zones consisted of turkey bacon, scrambled eggs, orange juice, and what looked suspiciously like squashed blueberry muffins, that is.

Eddie's head snapped up. He was already on his knees trying to salvage the mess, nostrils flaring before he realized who was standing before him. Richie was tempted to give a little wave - which made no sense because hi, this was their apartment, who else would Eddie have expected to be there? The alien clown?

 _Bad Richie_ , he scolded. _Too early to be thinking about clown-related trauma._

“Morning,” Eddie said, his voice strained. Richie's heart did a pleased flip as he caught sight of the red flannel pajama bottoms Eddie wore, one of Richie's tour shirts tucked into the waistband in a poor attempt to conceal how big it was on him.

“Good morning to you, too.” Richie ran a quick hand through his hair and down his face, an attempt to inconspicuously rub the sleep out of his eyes that Eddie spotted anyway. Eddie seemed to know Richie better than Richie knew himself some days.

“You know,” Richie said, eyeing the scattered turkey bacon and sad-looking eggs strewn across the floor, swallowing against the dry, disgusting taste of his own morning breath as Eddie kept staring, clearly fighting back another burst of profanity for Richie's half-awake sake. “Uh, you know, if you wanted to recreate Vietnam, you could've always looked it up on Google. Found some nice pictures, created a diorama. I think I have some fake blood leftover from last Halloween. Might have to dig for it, though, maybe it's in the closet.”

“What?”

Richie gestured vaguely to the mess, noting an orange juice puddle that veered far too close to the couch for his liking. “This nice little war-zone.”

“Oh.” Eddie winced, and some of his irritation faded as he looked down at the turkey bacon he'd been scooping up. “Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Fuck.”

“Hey, no, it's fine.” Richie barely suppressed a yawn in time as he crouched beside Eddie to help. His knees cracked and his joints wept for mercy but he got right to work, corralling the rest of the bacon between them. “Early bird gets the spaghetti, or whatever the phrase is.”

“You know what the saying is, you're just trying to cheer me up.” He could hear Eddie trying not to laugh without looking up.

“Can't prove it. Besides, I like spaghetti better than worms.”

“Says the man who tried to eat a handful of them in fifth grade on a dare.”

Richie did meet his eyes then, placing a hand to his chest in mock horror. “And who could have dared a poor, sweet impressionable kid to do such a thing, Eds?”

“Definitely not someone who goes by Eds,” Eddie shot back, but he just shook his head when Richie reached out to ruffle his untidy hair. It was curling a little at the ends, a state of pre-gel-professional Eddie that Richie adored. This Eddie was for his eyes only, a lazy day delight that he wanted to bury his face into and never let go. It was too early for weird, sappy thoughts but half-awake Richie just wanted to get back to cuddling his boyfriend before he had to leave for work so he tucked those urges away for the moment.

“So, what's with the breakfast bomb?” Richie asked. He moved on to using the mountain of napkins Eddie must've wedged under the plates to mop up the orange juice puddle.

Eddie sighed. His hair flopped into his eyes as he ducked his head, retrieving a wooden tray Richie hadn't spotted from where it was lying on its side by the couch. “I, uh... I thought it'd be a good idea.”

Richie waited but Eddie didn't continue, worrying his lower lip as he piled the bacon onto the tray. “You want to elaborate on what this good idea is?”

“ _Was_ ,” Eddie corrected, more than a little grumpy now. “I don't know. I didn't sleep well, kept thinking about…” He glanced at Richie. “About tonight, I guess.”

“Oh.” Richie suddenly felt very awake.

That hadn’t been a dream, after all. Eddie had really asked him on a _date_ in _Target_ , of all places. If he wasn’t dealing with his own rising cocktail of anxiety and glee right now, he might’ve found the energy to tease Eddie about it.

As it was, he just watched Eddie shut his eyes, still worrying his lip. “So, I woke up and thought it'd be a good idea to make breakfast early before I left.”

Richie bit his own lip to stifle a sound that, if set free, might've come out a laugh or a frankly embarrassing squeak. The world would never know. “Edward Kaspbrak, were you trying to make me breakfast in bed?”

 _There_ was that pink flush. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I have to say, I did not expect to be the reason you started World War III with our scrambled eggs, but - ”

“If you're going to be an asshole about it, I can just go,” Eddie grumbled, and Richie got the terrifying sense that Eddie was telling the truth, that he was _embarrassed_ , and that wouldn't do.

“No, no!” Eddie made to pull away as Richie tugged him closer but Richie steadfastly ignored his protests over how they were going to squash the bacon. The goddamn bacon could wait. He cupped Eddie's face in his hands and bumped their noses together, knowing it'd make Eddie snort. “It's cute. I've never - I mean, I've never actually had breakfast in bed. Or, on the floor.”

“We are not eating this mess off the floor.”

“Of course not. _But_ ,” and now Richie gave him a peck on the tip of his nose, a test to see Eddie's eyes flutter closed for a moment, “there's no way we can't start over.”

“From scratch? You do realize we're out of eggs and turkey bacon? I used up the last of them for this. Plus, I have to leave in half an hour.” Eddie grimaced and a thrill ran up Richie's spine because he looked genuinely disappointed.

“What about cereal in bed?”

Eddie bumped their noses again, a little harder, a playful reprimand. “We are not ending your breakfast in bed virginity with a box of Irish Charm.”

“I know you know it's called _Lucky_ _Charms_ , so I'm choosing to ignore that - ”

“He's Irish, he's a walking stereotype in the form of a leprechaun, what does it _matter_?”

“Because you are very wrong and that virginity metaphor was adorable,” Richie spoke over him, grinning when Eddie glowered at him. “Cereal is the breakfast of champions. Besides, I know you love that one wheat toast cereal, you little liar. I'll even drizzle the last of our chocolate syrup over it.”

Eddie's eyes narrowed. “ _Cinnamon Toast Crunch_. You definitely know what it's called, hypocrite.”

“That’s rich, calling _me_ the hypocrite here.”

“Also,” Eddie said, “don't act like I'm the only one who does that. You use chocolate syrup on fucking everything. It's a miracle you haven't turned into a walking cocoa bean.”

Richie leaned back, flourishing one hand out to the side. “My humblest apologies, but I need an answer here before your half an hour is up, babycakes.” He paused when Eddie gave him a different _look_. “No to the nickname?”

“It makes me sound like a damsel from the nineteen twenties.”

“ _Damsel_ , look at you using that word-a-day calendar.” When Eddie didn't react, Richie shrugged. “I _suppose_ they can't all be winners.”

Eddie heaved a great sigh, but he fooled no one with that smile as he kissed Richie's forehead and pushed up off the floor with a grunt. “Do you want to grab the cereal while I clean up the rest of this?”

“Sounds like a plan to me!” It took him a minute to get up too, his knees cracking and his back crying out because _oh boy, that was a mistake_ , but he managed to get to his feet as Eddie scooped up the tray with bacon strewn across it and pretended not to be staring at Richie in concern. It warmed his heart to see protectiveness lurking in his eyes, to see how much Eddie cared and how _openly_ he did so.

Just for that, Richie turned before he neared the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. “Uh, hey.”

Eddie glanced over his shoulder, one foot on the soggy napkins that had thoroughly soaked up the orange juice. “Hey. What is it?”

He thought of how Eddie woke up early to cook him breakfast, and how Eddie was trying hard to learn how to cook since the most he'd made since college was ramen and sandwiches. He thought of the itch in his bones every time Eddie kissed him on the forehead before he left for work, something he admitted to doing even when Richie didn't wake up to say goodbye.

He thought of the glitter of yesterday's nerves in Eddie's eyes, the hopefulness and the uncertainty bristling and blooming.

“Thank you,” Richie said. “For this. You, uh, you didn't have to. But you did.” His breath grew shaky and he fought away his own bout of nerves as a smile quirked up the edges of his sleep-addled features. “I love you.”

It took a careful eye, one that had known Eddie for most of his life, to spot the way he swallowed hard, the rapid blinking before he straightened, foot sliding off the pile of wet napkins. “I love you too, Rich.”

Richie gave him a wider smile, the best winning smile he had, before backing quickly into the kitchen and out of sight, unable to give or hear more fond words at this early hour or he might spontaneously combust. There'd be more time for that later, anyway.

He stubbed his toe on the pantry door and Richie gazed blankly at the shelves, the sharp pain and sudden panic in his gut crashing over him in waves. _Later_. Tonight would be _later_.

 _Later_ as in a date. With Eddie.

 _A date with Eddie._ You know, a normal occurrence for a washed-up comedian like Richie Tozier.

Well. That was a little mean. 

He was trying to be nicer to himself - advice from his newest therapist, and Eddie once Richie tentatively admitted said advice was necessary - and Richie wouldn't consider having a tour and a Netflix special “washed up”. People knew his name! Most people liked him and didn't think he did coke anymore! Mostly!

It was a work-in-progress.

The thing was, though, Richie hadn't quite processed the fact that Eddie, the love of his life since his acne-ridden teenage years, the wonderful pain in his ass who kicked him out of bed sometimes to hoard the covers when he was cold, had asked him on a _date_. It was an unfathomable concept; he couldn't wrap his head around it. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten through the previous day without thinking too hard on it other than blocking out the revelation entirely or going _it's just like your usual outings, you went to tons of restaurants with Eddie before this month!_

Neither of those methods were helping hours later when Eddie was long gone to work and Richie found himself still panicking, alone with his thoughts and standing barefoot in front of his closet clutching a shirt in both hands so bright a shade of yellow that a banana would've fainted out of envy. All he could think was _three hours until Eddie gets home and we go on that date_ which devolved at the speed of light into _oh, fuck me, what the fuck am I going to do on a date with Eddie fucking Kaspbrak?_

Well, the answer to the latter was actually obvious. Talk. Eat. Maybe get some kissing in before either of them thought about the repercussions of doing so in public for too long. Maybe more, though they hadn't talked about going further than kisses yet due to the general anxiety anything more intimate induced right now when they both could barely kiss each other in public without stammering or walking into doors. Which definitely didn’t happen to Richie the first time he tried that.

But, regardless, that didn't mean he knew what he was supposed to _do_ on a date. Richie had been on three dates total in his life, and two had been women chosen for PR stunts. The last had been with a guy who had a collection of his grandma's teeth on his dresser.

So, clearly, the bar was pretty low. Eddie could've spit in his food at the restaurant and Richie would've thanked him.

But _,_ this was also _Eddie_. Which meant the bar had launched itself into space and veered into orbit around Saturn and it was all he could take to keep himself from hyperventilating.

This was ridiculous. Really. He wasn't _twelve_ , did he need someone to hold his hand while he picked out a shirt like some crazy rom-com montage?

The worst was over! The clown was gone! Eddie loved him back! Happily ever after and white horses and riding off into the sunset, the end! What else did he need?

Actually, holding someone's hand would've been nice right about now. Specifically, Eddie's.

Richie dropped the shirt and threw himself onto his back on the bed, frowning up at the ceiling. “Holy fucking shit,” he whispered, shutting his eyes and pinching the skin between his brows with his fingers. “I'm so fucked.”

His phone buzzed in his shorts pocket and he sighed, digging it out without looking at the caller ID. “Yellow, Dick here?”

“That's still not a funny way to answer the phone,” Eddie’s tinny voice told him, and every worry in Richie's body simultaneously spiked and mellowed out. “Someday someone's going to hang up on you in ten seconds flat.”

“Keep reminding me, Eds, and maybe someday it'll stick.”

“If I have to.” Eddie didn't sound the least bit annoyed about that prospect. “So, um, how are you?”

Richie's frown returned. “Aren't you at work?”

“Yeah. Am I not allowed to call my boyfriend at work to ask how he's doing?”

“What? No. I just - I thought you'd be busy. Assessing your risks and whatnot.” The worry began pressing its needled fingers into his guts harder. “Why _are_ you calling, though? It's not your lunch break. Is it?”

“I took a late break,” Eddie said, as if that explained everything. “I just missed you. I don't know.”

Oh. Richie felt like he ought to cough to break the brief silence between them, his cheeks burning as he fought back a grin. “Getting sappy on me?”

“You wish.”

“Oh, the things I wish,” Richie bemoaned, placing one hand on his chest even though he knew Eddie couldn't see him. His heart jackrabbited under his palm through his shirt.

Eddie laughed, quiet but the sound was still audible enough for the phone to pick up. He swore Eddie was grinning as he spoke. “Well, you'll have all the time in the world to tell me about these things later, Shakespeare.”

 _Later._ Again with the _laters_.

“You said you couldn't sleep,” Richie blurted out before he could stop himself. “Earlier. That is. You okay?”

“Oh.” He heard nothing over the other end for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. I didn't sleep well, that's all.”

“That's still not good.”

“Yeah, but it was for a dumb reason.”

“Thought Kim said there were no dumb reasons for not coping well?”

Something rustled over the other end and he thought he heard Eddie sigh. “Spouting my own therapist’s words back at me. Touché, Trashmouth.”

“I aim to please.” He waggled his eyebrows to punctuate the statement.

“Sure.” Eddie definitely sounded distracted now. And not the good kind where Richie would kiss his neck as he squirmed on the bed, griping over trying to finish work on his laptop until he gave up and yanked a chuckling Richie down by the back of his head for a proper kiss.

“Do you not want to...” Richie licked his lips and rethought his question. Communication, _proper_ communication without a dick joke thrown in every five minutes, was not their strong suit. Neither of them, their friends included, seemed to have learned how to talk about the important things without either beating around the bush or jumping off cliffs headfirst with no plan whatsoever. Not promising, to say the least.

But he wanted to be better. He wanted him and Eddie to talk to each other, especially since it appeared Eddie might _need_ an honest conversation. Usually, it was Eddie who incited them, but Eddie was just as bad, if not worse, at bottling up his emotions. Richie had a feeling he needed a push.

He shut his eyes and sighed. “Would it be better to wait? If it's worrying you?”

“Sleeping?”

“Tonight. I mean.”

Eddie hesitated. His insides writhed in the beats of silence, drumming under his heartbeat. “Are _you_ worrying?”

Richie almost lied but the stinging familiarity of the uncertainty in Eddie's voice weakened his resolve and he confessed, “A little.”

“Oh.”

“Not that much,” Richie felt the need to clarify, “but I keep thinking about it.”

“Waiting?”

“Fucking things up, more like?”

“You're not going to fuck things up.” The response came immediately before Richie could finish his sentence. His unwavering belief in Richie was touching. “I've seen you eat worms, remember?”

Richie laughed. “Fuck, you're never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“You were the dumbass who did it!”

“And yet you love me anyway.”

“I do,” Eddie said. Richie's heart clenched, tears pricking at his eyes. He swallowed hard, sure Eddie could hear it through the phone. “I do,” he repeated, tender and stubborn in equal measures. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Okay, okay. We've established preteen me ruined any chance of escape for you. You're stuck with me, jackass.” Richie sniffed. “Just to be clear, by the way, you're not fucking anything up either.”

“Did you not see the breakfast in bed gone wrong? Or, how did you put it, the Vietnam war-zone?”

Richie sat up and wiped at his eyes, wedging his phone between his shoulder and his ear so he could use both hands to scrub the tears away. Using his clammy palms to do so wasn’t the best plan but he’d forgotten to replace the Kleenex in the bedroom and he didn’t want to wipe his face against the bedsheets or his sweaty shirt. “Nuh-uh, if I can't mope around, you can't either. That's not how this works.”

“I'm not moping! I'm stating a fact!”

“Also, I happened to like our breakfast in bed. Lint and all.”

He could practically _see_ Eddie rolling his eyes. “There was no _lint_ in our cereal.”

“What, that wasn't what those soggy squares were?”

“Stop trying to cheer me up by making fun of my taste in cereal,” Eddie ordered, though it was a half-hearted attempt when the fondness seeping through hit him full-force, sugar sweet and fluttering through Richie's stomach.

“Absolutely not. Never.” Richie fidgeted on the edge of the bed. “Is it working?”

“Of course it is.” That earned him an even quieter laugh, and he pressed the phone tighter against his ear as if that would bring Eddie himself closer to Richie. “I know it's dumb. I mean, I suppose it's not dumb if we're both freaking the fuck out.”

“Really? I thought you were acting surprisingly calm.”

“Shush,” Eddie chided gently. “I don't know. I think it's just nerves. Maybe not. I don’t know, honestly. I don’t want to over think it, but I haven't been on a date since...”

The warmth dissipated and Richie could hear the words Eddie was too uneasy to say echoing in the empty bedroom. _Since Myra_.

“Sorry.” It was out of his mouth before he could reconsider speaking at all.

“Richie, we've established this is not your fault. And it isn’t. Nor is the divorce for that matter, so don’t even think about bringing that up again because it’s _not_. Myra and I are doing this for our own mutual benefit.” Eddie paused. “And because I love you.”

“Love you too, stud.”

He swore he heard Eddie laugh, a slightly muffled sound that only lasted for a split-second before he cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m - I keep thinking about how much I want tonight to go well. It shouldn't have to! But I've only been on a date with one person before, and she kept declaring how _perfect_ the night was afterward and I keep thinking - ”

“That you want it to go perfectly now too,” Richie finished for him.

“Yeah.” Eddie's voice came out small, unbearably small for anyone so loud and remarkably brave. “I know it doesn't need to be. But, it's you. I want it to be perfect.”

His breath caught in his throat. Fuck, the bastard was going to make him cry again. “I think we just established I am far from perfect, Eddie baby.”

“And I think we also established that I don't care. Unfortunately, you could snort spaghetti noodles up your nose for the rest of your life and I'd still be into you.”

Richie chuckled. “That actually happened on accident in college once.”

“That is _absolutely_ _disgusting_ , and yet it also proves my point.”

“Yeah, it's just like snorting coke, but with a nice, thick - ”

“I'm going to drive home from work early to give you a wet willy, I _swear._ ”

“A _wet willy_ ," Richie crowed, throwing his head back. “Oh my god, I think I time-traveled back to high school. I haven't heard a sentence with _wet willy_ in it since I was _fourteen_.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Eddie paused and Richie heard someone murmur something on the other end, a gruffer voice than Eddie's. He bit his lip to keep the rest of his laughter at bay until the voice went away. “I have to get back to work. Apparently, Steven thinks I'm being too _loud_.”

“Tell Steven you're even louder in - ”

“ _Goodbye, Richie_ ,” Eddie said, his voice already rising in volume again. “And, um, see you later?”

The wave of anxiety he anticipated didn't suffocate him this time. Sure, the nerves were still there, lingering and festering and waiting for their turn to strike, but Richie could only smile at the phone as he glanced down at the screen declaring _Edward Spaghedward_ was waiting for his reply. “See you later.”

“I love you.”

“Beat me to it, you dick.”

Eddie scoffed. “It's not a contest.”

“ _Sure_.” He listened to Eddie sputter for a few more seconds before murmuring, “I love you, too.”

“Dick,” Eddie said with all the affection one could muster while insulting their boyfriend, and as he hung up, Richie laughed to himself, his stomach settling for the first time in several hours.

***

Five-thirty came and unfortunately, the urge to run for the toilet was back with a vengeance. He really tried to bat it away with a stick when he sensed it returning, determined to remain cool as a cucumber until Eddie came home, but Richie knew it was to no avail from the start. Even with the rather reassuring talk they'd had over the phone that they both knew fuck-all about what was going to happen, the nagging terror had a way of burrowing into his veins and hiding until he thought the worst of the storm was over.

It didn't help that Eddie was at least half an hour late. He would've panicked had he not gotten a harried text ten minutes ago: _sorry had to solve issue people are so fucking stupid watch where you're running dillweed for fucks sake this is an intersection you can’t just run into incoming traffic go fuck yourself oh send text_.

Be still his beating heart. He fucking loved that asshole.

However, his nerves were still bouncing all over the place and he knew Eddie didn't work far from their apartment (a compromise they'd made when Richie packed up everything and moved to a brand new Chicago neighborhood after Eddie refused to stay in the same building as the pair of weed-dealers they caught trying to break into Richie’s shitty apartment a week in). He should've been home by now.

 _Home_. 

Funny, Richie had never thought of any place as home since… well, since Derry. Even then, he'd wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of that sleepy nightmare of a town, so maybe home was more of a person, or a people, than a place. A cheesy thought, one the other Losers might've ribbed him for. But he got the sense that they understood the instinct too.

Home was Stan, and slowly becoming Patty as well, who integrated herself into their lives with ease and didn't bat an eye at the truth of their fucked up trip to Derry. Home was Bill and Mike camped out under the stars somewhere in the desert, and home was Ben and Bev traveling up the East Coast to get some peace and quiet before the storm of Bev's divorce swept over them.

Home was Eddie Kaspbrak knocking on his doorstep and declaring, “I need someplace to stay because I left Myra and I'm gay.” Home was a whirlwind of love confessions at three in the morning after neither of them could bear the tension any longer. Home was a whispered promise while clutching each other tight in the tangled, sweat-stained sheets after nightmares and the fear of Eddie leaving swelling like helium in his lungs: “I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

The door clicked open and Richie blinked away the haze he'd sunken into, rising to his feet once he realized what the sound meant. He had barely a moment to call out Eddie's name before Eddie rounded the corner into the living room, eyes half-shut, a scowl etched onto his features. With his cerulean tie undone and the briefcase in hand already sagging, Richie could tell he truly was exhausted. He hadn't been lying on the phone about not sleeping well. Work must have exacerbated that and given him a migraine, if the permanent crease in his forehead was any indication.

“You're a sight for sore eyes,” Richie said. The glow of affection that Eddie always incited without trying began washing away the worst of his anxiety, soothing him as he stepped closer and Eddie managed to meet his gaze. “Hey, handsome.”

“I'm so sorry.” Eddie set down his briefcase and rested his forehead against Richie's, like he was an anchor for Eddie to settle against for a time. He traced his thumb on the side of Richie's neck and let Richie nuzzle him like a cat in an attempt to make Eddie laugh - maybe because they both knew it would work, even if Eddie didn't shriek this time like he always did about Richie's cold nose. “I fucking _told_ them I had to go and I couldn't stay any longer, but Brad needed help with the spreadsheets and Dave didn't learn simple multiplication skills in elementary school, I fucking suppose - ”

“It's cool.” When he was given a disbelieving look, Richie snorted. “I'm serious. Dinner's still going to happen, no one's hurt or late. Everything will be just fine. No harm done.”

“I won't have time to shower before we go in,” Eddie checked his watch and a guttural groan left his lips, “two minutes, _fuck_.”

“Maybe I like you stinky.”

“ _You're_ stinky.” The petulant note in his voice would have made him laugh had Richie not also heard the drowsiness coupled with it.

“Not to sound repetitive,” Richie kept his tone light, “but we don't have to go out, you know.”

The sleepy forehead crease deepened into a chasm. “What?”

“It's okay if we stay in. You look wiped out.”

“I'm fine,” Eddie said automatically. He looked undeterred by Richie's _you're kidding, right_ expression, and straightened his posture, glaring up at him. Oh, he knew that look, the stubborn setting of Eddie's jaw. “I am. You're right, everything will be fine.”

“Fine. But if you fall asleep on the car ride there, I'm turning back around.”

“I'll make you sleep on the couch if you do,” Eddie replied, saccharine sweet as his eyes flashed. Alright, maybe that comment had been pushing it a little.

Still, he didn't think his suspicions were unfounded, especially when Eddie _did_ almost pass out in the car (he'd always been a sucker for car rides at night; the number of times Eddie fell asleep on a car or bus ride as a kid couldn't be counted on all of the Losers’ fingers and toes). The hostess at the front of the steakhouse Eddie had gotten the reservation for seemed to spy the tension right from the get-go but she must have thought better than to comment on it as both she and Richie watched Eddie pinch his inner forearm, perhaps fighting to stay awake while they waited to be seated. She simply showed them to their seats and gave them one quick backward glance before hurrying away.

On the bright side, Richie mused, that sea of nausea and anxiety had subsided once more.

Of course, it took fifteen minutes before it crept back in when the waiter - a twenty-something ginger-haired kid with eyes big enough to rival Eddie's - came to ask about starting with drinks and he stopped cold a foot away from the table to murmur, “Oh my _god_. _Dude_. You're Richie Tozier.”

He could feel Eddie's eyes dart between them as his insides tightened in a vice. Normally, Richie didn't mind running into fans in public since it was a simple photo opportunity and then he never saw them again. Half the time people were exceedingly polite about “bothering him” anyway and he didn't meet too many fans out and about to begin with. Richie rather liked interacting with his fans now that the homophobes and sexist frat boys had been weeded out since his coming out.

Being on a date with Eddie in public and their _waiter_ beginning to vibrate with the recognizable delight he saw in fans when neither he nor Eddie could up and excuse themselves if things got too awkward was not an ideal situation. Especially when Richie was beginning to get nauseous again and Eddie was too tired for filtering himself if the need arose.

Richie smiled, the thin and wide smile he used for every interview and photo-op. “You caught me,” he said dryly.

“I just - this is so cool. My partner loves you, man.” The waiter was starting to beam, a sunshine bright, blinding white grin that took up his whole face. “Now that, well, you know. After everything. That was really brave of you.”

Richie swallowed around the familiar lump that formed every time someone used the word _brave_ to describe him or his coming out. “Right. Thank you.”

The waiter finally noticed Eddie, who hadn't spoken a word since the interaction began and wore a strange expression Richie couldn't decipher. Whatever the waiter saw caused him to blink, coming back to himself, as if he'd forgotten where they were. His face reddened and he bit his lip. “I'm so sorry! I didn't even think - I'm sorry.” He lifted his pad and gave them a restrained polite smile. “Do you know what you want to drink?”

They both ordered waters (Richie due to his recent go at curbing his, according to his therapist at least, “alcoholic crutch”; Eddie in solidarity of Richie cutting back on said “crutch”) and Richie raised an eyebrow at Eddie once the waiter scurried off with flaming cheeks. “You doing good over there, Sleeping Beauty?”

The nickname might've been too much. Eddie's jaw clenched, sharp and stiff enough to grind a diamond to dust, and his eyes fell somewhere over Richie's shoulder. “I'm doing just fine.”

“I didn't...” Richie sighed. “I'm genuinely asking. I'm sorry about that.” He waved at the disappearing back of their waiter.

Eddie's brow furrowed and the stiffness unwound itself a couple of notches. “If you're talking about getting recognized, that's not something you need to apologize for. Rich, I know you're a celebrity.”

“Minor celebrity,” Richie mumbled. “C-list, really.”

“Still. It's okay. Besides, that was sweet. What he said.” He hesitated and that strange look returned. Richie really couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it seemed to be verging on something contemplative. “I never thought about - I mean, I've never seen you meet fans like that before. I didn't think about how it'd look to them.”

“How what would?”

“You coming out.” Eddie locked eyes with him, a jolt of electricity ricocheting up Richie's spine. How Eddie turned Richie into a living lightning rod with one look _every fucking time_ baffled him.“A lot of people must think you're brave. And they're right.”

Richie’s laugh tightened alongside his chest and lungs, the vice shrinking around his insides. “Not really.”

“You are,” Eddie insisted. “I certainly wouldn’t have come out if you hadn’t given me the courage to do it.”

“Announcing I suck dicks to my closest friends and throwing up on my own shoes was _very_ inspirational, yeah.” His actual public coming out hadn’t been much better, even if the interview released with the “Hey, by the by, I’m gay” statement in it had been pre-planned. Unlike his alarming declaration to the Losers as they sat around Eddie’s hospital bed.

He really didn’t like thinking about either of those moments. Not his proudest achievements to date.

He didn’t _regret_ coming out, though. Terrifying as that conversation and interview had been, he would _never_ regret that decision. The clown couldn’t take that from him. He was fucking owning that shit even if it also made him want to curl up in a fetal position and scream for several hours.

Eddie looked as obstinate as he had that day in the hospital with his mouth screwed up into a jagged pink slash across his face, minus the painkillers and bandages he’d worn back then. “You still did it. The thought of doing that publicly, I don’t…” He breathed out through his nose, shoulders hunching before moving back to their previous rigid position. “I don’t know if I could ever do that. Twice was enough for me. You’ve always been braver than me, Richie.”

“That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard coming from the guy who launched a _fence post_ at a child-killing clown.”

Eddie laughed, a low sound that turned his stomach. “That was a fluke.”

Richie gaped. “A _fluke_? Do we need to march back down to those sewers and have that ‘braver than you think’ conversation again? You kicked that bitch in the face before you hit puberty!”

“I was also a hyperactive preteen high on adrenaline and scared shitless!”

“Yeah, and you think we weren’t? The only difference between then and now is you’re forty!”

Eddie opened his mouth to snap back but the waiter came hurrying over with their waters and an awkward silence ensued. The waiter mumbled something about coming back in a few minutes after they had a look at the menu, before he made his escape. Poor kid’s cheeks were still red as Bev’s hair. Richie would’ve felt bad if he wasn’t watching Eddie with a careful eye.

Of course, Eddie wasn’t bothering to hide the fact that he was doing the same. He kept sipping his water, the sparks of challenge glinting in his eyes as if daring Richie to keep the argument going. The man had a terrible poker face, but to be honest, so did Richie. Sizing each other up in the middle of a steakhouse on their first date wasn’t something he had imagined, but it was probably something he should have assumed would happen.

“You're a smug little shit, you know that?” Richie said. It took all his willpower not to laugh as those dark eyes narrowed.

“How am I smug?”

“I can _see_ you egging me on, dipshit. And don't say you're not because I know you _very_ well.”

The memory of Eddie lifting his chin the same way he was now, albeit with wearier eyes and lips tugging at the corners, surged through him, first in ripples then in waves, growing with each passing second. People certainly changed with time, but it was difficult to think of Eddie as anything but that little potty-mouthed kid who used to help him with his math homework and shared his Marvel comics every Saturday. Eddie wasn't quite the same, but he still saw hints of the boy he used to be lingering behind, ghosts from a childhood fraught with so much terror and joy.

“Well, don't say you're not trying to distract me,” Eddie warned. “You think I can't tell what you're doing? Calling me out and trying to change the subject before I remember why it needed to be changed at all?”

Richie, who had been, in fact, attempting to do just that, scoffed. “You simply don't want to admit I'm right.”

“Don't have to admit anything.” That mouth kept twitching. He wanted to kiss every inch of it. “I _know_ I’m right and that’s all that matters.”

“Of course, Your Royal Ed-ness.” Richie pretended to toast him with his glass, the poshest English accent he could muster seeping into his words. “I shall never speak against thee again. Oh, how could I have been so terribly daft to think - ”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to be Shakespeare or Sir Patrick Stewart right now.”

“ _Obviously_ , I am Sir Tozington of the Round Table. Don’t be insensitive, dear.” He smirked when he caught sight of the smile beginning to weasel its way through the cracks in Eddie’s façade. “Would that make you King Edward the Brave, then?”

“Please, we both know I wouldn’t be a king. And not a brave one at that.”

Richie leaned his head back and groaned, the accent dissolving on his tongue as he set his glass of water on the table with a bit more force than necessary. “Fine, we're both cowards then, how about that?”

Any semblance of amusement crumbled off of Eddie's features. He opened his mouth again, but he shut it within the same moment, looking uneasy as he chose to instead take another sip of water before he spoke. “I didn't...” Eddie pressed a hand to his mouth and Richie realized he was trying to hide a yawn. “I didn't say that.”

“Yeah, I got that, thanks. Are you sure you're good?” Richie asked.

Eddie sighed, his jaw clenched. “I’m _fine_ , seriously.”

“I’m not - again, I'm not asking to be mean, Eds. You look exhausted, that's all.”

“Believe me, I’m wide awake.” Richie snorted and Eddie's eyes darted to the tablecloth. Something dangerously close to a scowl crossed his face. “Okay, I'm _not_ , but I'm fine. All I want is to eat dinner. Really.”

“Okay.” The word came out quieter than he intended, but it did serve to smooth over the creases of irritation painting Eddie’s features. It even earned him a _look_ that he dared classify as concerned, though Richie didn’t have time to hold his gaze for more than a moment before Eddie glanced away.

Their waiter returned with another overly polite round of questions for their order, which devolved into Richie picking the first kind of steak he recognized in the entrées list and ignoring the burn of Eddie’s eyes on his face. If the waiter noticed anything different or odd about the stilted conversation, he said nothing of it. Richie almost wished he’d stay there or ask for a goddamn picture in public so the silence didn’t suffocate him a little longer. It wasn’t any better after they got their steaks, when Richie’s was a little too overcooked and he could _hear_ Eddie struggling not to urge him to order another one or bring it up to the servers, but perhaps the fatigue was getting to be too much after all for him because Eddie didn’t make a peep about the lack of pink or the burnt edges.

It didn’t feel like Eddie was mad at him. Richie was well-versed in Eddie’s wide range of frustration and anger and this felt more like frustration with something else. If Eddie were angry with Richie, he would’ve just said so. They weren’t good at communication but the two of them had a hard time shying away from things that actually pissed them off. Besides, Richie wasn’t sure what he would’ve done _to_ piss Eddie off aside from asking about his well-being. And Eddie, much as he didn’t like to be fussed over, would’ve said something much harsher than he had up until now if he was truly annoyed.

Eddie also kept _fidgeting_. Richie tried to make conversation, to inch his way back to an apology though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing _for_ , but Eddie’s leg kept bouncing against his and he wouldn’t meet Richie’s eyes when he gave one-sentence replies. When he _did_ attempt to talk to Richie, his words grew more and more wooden, like it was the first time they’d met. He asked about work and whether he’d called the Losers lately and the _weather_ , of all things, and Richie tried to respond but Eddie dropped the subject after one or two back-and-forth comments. 

Maybe Eddie didn’t notice, but the difference was astronomical in Richie’s eyes. He’d never seen Eddie Kaspbrak so quiet unless he was being lectured by his mother - which obviously hadn’t happened in _years_. He was tempted to bring up Myra to get _some_ kind of reaction out of Eddie, but that was a cheap and unfair idea and he brushed it aside the moment he thought it.

Across the table, Richie's gaze traced the tired droop of his mouth and the crinkles around his eyes. His chest still felt tight, like something had skipped a step and was teetering over the edge of toppling into an abyss. He resisted another sigh and watched Eddie pick up his menu to scan the options, even though Eddie _had_ to know the desserts by heart when he searched for tonight’s restaurant.

A near-silent dinner was not what he had anticipated. Sure, they both were nervous and had no clue what they were doing, but this was absurd. They couldn’t just _sit here_.

After Eddie’s fiftieth attempt to mask a yawn (yes, he was counting), Richie cleared his throat, folding his arms over the dessert menu on the table. “So.”

“So?” Eddie didn’t look up.

“What the fuck is up with us?”

He spotted the way Eddie’s fingers jerked on the edge of the menu. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“We haven’t spent more than an hour together in silence _ever_. Unless you count sleep, but we both know you’re a little foghorn, so that doesn’t really count.”

“You’re the one who snores, not me.”

“Ah, right.” Richie snapped his fingers. “You’re the drooler. Silly me.”

Eddie glared at him, but there was little heat behind it. “Do you have a point?”

“Why are we sitting here like good quiet boys waiting in some doctor’s...waiting room, I don’t know?”

“Waiting rooms are hell and the furthest thing from quiet,” Eddie told him. “They’re homing beacons for screaming children, for one.”

“You fit right in, then, huh?”

“I have a question,” Eddie said. He set down his menu and spread his hands. “Why are you trying to rile me up?”

“You didn’t answer _my_ question.”

“Richie.”

”No, really, you didn’t.”

”Maybe because you’re acting weird and I’m confused,” Eddie said.

“I’m nervous too, you know,” Richie blurted. He didn’t intend to, but his mouth, as per usual, had other plans in mind.

There it was, the crack again in Eddie’s unbothered mask. Strangely, he was reminded of yesterday in Target, of studying the unsureness of Eddie trying to ask him out while not really asking him out at the same time. It was a small confirmation of _something_ , but a confirmation nonetheless.

He blew out a deep breath and fiddled with the corner of his own menu. He kept his gaze trained on the French pastry at the top of the menu - some kind of soufflé, perhaps. “I’m sorry, I… Look, I know you wanted this to be perfect. I didn’t mean to fuck that up.”

“Richie - ”

“Or maybe I didn’t, I don’t know,” he continued quickly, the note of alarm in Eddie’s voice making his gut twist. “But we had this chat, right? We’re both in the same boat.” Richie glanced up and gave Eddie a small smile. “Two peas in a pod.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” Eddie said, his tone gentling, and his shoulders sagged as he ran a hand through his hair. He was messing up the pristine state of his usual gelled look, but he didn’t appear to realize or care. “You didn’t. I didn’t mean - I didn’t mean to be an asshole, that’s not your fault.”

“Not yours either,” Richie countered. “It’s just stress, right? Little Eddie throwing a tantrum?”

“I’m going to ignore that comment but yeah. Sort of.” The irritated creases returned, but Richie doubted they were directed at him. Eddie bit his lip and chewed on it, his back hitting the wood of the chair with a soft _thud_. “You remember how I said I wanted tonight to be perfect?” When Richie nodded, Eddie’s hand tugged in his gelled hair, his brow furrowing deeper. “Right. Well. I wasn’t entirely honest. About that, I mean.”

Richie frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s just…” Eddie sucked in a deep breath. “A bunch of people at work were talking about their partners and how someone, I think Samara, I dunno, was taking her wife out for her birthday to this nice place and they somehow cornered me into talking about it too, and I didn’t mention you by name or anything but they thought it was weird we hadn’t gone out. You know, ‘ _officially_ ’.” Eddie’s voice grew shriller as he made air-quotes with his free hand, an eye-roll at the ready. “I didn’t think it was weird until I realized they were right, because, well, we _haven’t_. So, it got me thinking we’d been waiting a while and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was good or bad or if we’d rushed into things without thinking about what came after the ‘I love you’s. Not that I think we rushed the actual confessions because, no offense, but neither one of us were going to bite the bullet if you hadn’t done shit that night.” He winced. “That sounded harsh. But it’s true. And I know I love you and I know you love me, I do, this isn’t about _that_ , but I keep thinking that we’re - we’re _stuck_ here, and we’re - “

“Doing something wrong?” Richie asked. He valiantly held back a smile, the contagious adoration and enthusiasm of Eddie’s rapid-fire speech so achingly familiar and, to be honest, a rare comfort for the first time that evening. But he thought he understood where this was going now, even if it was painful to think about Eddie fretting about this date more than Richie had been after all.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s teeth kept worrying his lip a bright red. “I don’t think we are. But.”

“But we’re traumatized forty-year-old men who’re trying to relearn dating in the midst of a clown-induced midlife crisis?”

Eddie laughed, a startled sound that leaped out of him. “I wouldn’t put it like that. But yeah, pretty much.”

“Maybe we did skip a few steps or fudge some of them. At this point, I wouldn’t put it past us.” Richie hesitated before unfolding his arms so he could reach across the table, slipping his hand into Eddie’s as the other drooped and fell from his mussed hair. His stomach flipped at the thought of people staring, of people _knowing_ , and bile crept up his throat, but Richie shoved it down. He focused instead on Eddie’s knuckles, on his ice-cold fingers, on the slight shiver that Richie felt run up his arm as he ran his thumb over each nook and cranny of his palm.

“I guess I got caught up in why we _needed_ to do this that I forgot we didn’t have to,” Eddie murmured.

“Not a fan of dates?”

“Are you?” He didn’t sound accusing, instead genuinely curious.

Richie shrugged. “This was probably the least terrible date I’ve ever been on. And I haven’t been on many. Might be the most awkward, though. Especially since I’ve never been on one with someone I, you know…” Richie hand-waved the unspoken as if that would clear away his sudden tentativeness, the words shriveling on his tongue as he battled the flush settling on his face.

“ _You know_ ,” Eddie teased.

“Fishing for compliments there, Kaspbrak?”

“Never.” Eddie squeezed his hand and smiled, and Richie couldn’t help but think to himself that their poor waiter’s delight had nothing on Eddie’s soft smile, a brilliant steady thing that wormed its way under his skin and nestled there without permission. Not that Eddie needed any. Eddie’d held onto his heart and soul the first day they met and never let go. And that was good enough for him.

“What kind of date do you want right now?” Richie asked him.

“What do you mean?”

“If you could have any date, here and now, what would it be?”

Eddie thought it over. In the meantime, he caught the pad of Richie’s thumb against his and rubbing lightly to make him squirm in his seat, the ticklish sensation almost enough for him to knock over his glass of water. 

“All I want right now is to sleep on the couch,” Eddie admitted, his cheeks coloring in embarrassment.

“Okay. Then let’s go.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah,” Richie said. “Who needs dessert?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You’re not doing this just because I made a big deal out of it, right?”

“Baby, I’m doing this because I am fucking exhausted and if I eat a chocolate Poo-Pourri or whatever, I will either crap out my insides or conk out right on the table. I think it’ll round out the Big Date Day just fine. We already had breakfast in bed and decent enough dinner and I got to ogle your ass in your work pants for a few hours longer - “

“I am literally sitting down right now, you can’t even _see_ my ass - “

“And furthermore,” Richie said, raising his voice a little to be heard over Eddie, “we both know putting on a movie and doing anything but sit in these stiff fucking seats for a moment more is the more tantalizing option here. You really think I’ll be able to concentrate on dessert when I could be snuggling the shit out of you instead?”

The smile widened, little by little, unfurling against Eddie’s will. “I knew you had a cuddle fetish, you fucking weirdo.”

“And who octopus-hugged me two nights in a row, Daddy Long Limbs?”

“Fair enough.” Eddie glanced to his right, and Richie spotted their waiter hovering a good distance away, doing a downright horrible job of pretending he wasn’t waiting to dart over at any moment to ask how they were doing or what they wanted for dessert. 

Richie didn’t need to see the look on Eddie’s face to know he had convinced him. 

“You better bring the comforter out, though,” Eddie said. “And we are _not_ lying there long enough to fuck up your back; last time it took you two weeks to sit straight again.”

“Nothing about me is straight, Eds.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “I fucking love you,” he said, and he waved the waiter over for the check.

“I love you too,” Richie gave his hand a squeeze back. “Awkwardness and all.”

“Oh, shut up, you were _way_ more awkward than I was.”

“Oh, _really_?”

“Who ordered another _two_ rounds of bread just to make conversation?”

“And who ate all that bread and told the waiter he could _have a nice day_? And asked me how I liked the fucking _weather_ , that is textbook awkward conversation behavior!”

“I take it back, I’m hogging the comforter when we get home.”

***

Hours later, as they watched the t-rex stomp into view onscreen in _Jurassic Park_ , one eye leering though the window of the jeep, Richie heard Eddie mutter in his ear from behind, arms snug around his middle but not restricting him, holding Richie to him like he was something precious, “For the record, this date was perfect from the start, jackass.”

Richie blamed the prickling of tears in his eyes on the cool night air coming through the open living room window. If Eddie saw through the bluff, he didn’t say a word. He just snorted and pressed another warm, drowsy kiss to his collarbone.

He didn’t say it out loud, but truth be told, Richie had to agree with Eddie. Nothing was going to top this.

**Author's Note:**

> I do most of my scary clown nonsense screaming at my twitter [@scarletscold](https://twitter.com/scarletscold). Comments are always appreciated, and have a great day!


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